Bah Hefferdog!

By BlindEagle

Bah hefferdog! All of this ‘deck the halls’ with this little drummer boy beating on a noisy drum. And I don’t want a white Christmas…

Bah hefferdog! Such a waste, using up all of that paper just to wrap up a gift. I mean really, is that necessary? Spending all their hard earned money on presents and toys, that tells you how not to manage your own business…

Bah hefferdog! All a waste, all a waste. Why, when I was a little runt who gave me a gift, who dressed it up in colorful wrappings, and who gave me the time of day? No one, just work and bring home every dime, to be told I was worthless, a worn down heffer in the field, and lazy as an overweight dog… a hefferdog...

Bah hefferdog! Why am I wasting my time thinking of these useless acts of giving? I bet all of them really don’t care and they do it because everyone expects it. But not me, no sir; I worked hard for what I have and there is no way I’m giving it to someone just because the time of the year demands it!

Bah hefferdog! I’m going home to fix me a delicious meal and relax for the evening and put all this giving nonsense where it belongs, right in the trash.

“Excuse me sir, I am collecting money for the Boy’s Ranch and...”

Cutting the boy off the man said, “And what! You expect me to give because everyone else is doing it?”

“Yes sir! The Ranch takes care of boys like me who have no place to go or have been thrown out of their homes. The Ranch takes good care of us and we are all treated equal.”

“Equal you say?”

“Yes sir, and we are having a holiday dinner prepared by the staff for all us boys. And if you make a donation, I will give you a ticket to the dinner as our guest. What d’ya think mister, it’s all for a worthy cause, helping kids.”

“Hey, thanks mister! Here’s your ticket. The dinner will be at 6:00 at the Boy’s Ranch. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Yes I do and I’m going to get my money’s worth, too!”

“Cool, mister. And thanks for the dollar.”

Well he did say 6:00 pm, so let’s see if this “Ranch” is what the boy said it was.

As the man arrived at the Boy’s Ranch he saw kids of every race and culture all entering into the huge dining area. Reluctantly he entered through the same door.

“Hey mister!” called the boy who gave him the ticket. “I see you made it. My table is over there, and dinner will start in a few minutes. As soon as the director addresses the guests.”

Once seated, the director thanked everyone who gave to help make this holiday a bright and cheerful one for the boys. He said that every dollar counts in making sure that every kid will receive a gift. He went on to tell of his life and all the hardships he endured as a battered youth, and how he vowed that when he got older he would do everything possible to make sure kids wouldn’t suffer at the hand of someone who didn’t care or wouldn’t even give them the time of day to prove their worth.

Like a ton of bricks, everything that crushed him as a young boy came rushing back in the man’s head. All the rejection, the beatings, the abusive words, and the disgrace flashed before him. With out a chance to gain his composure, tears upon tears began running down the man’s face.

The director noticed the man crying, and noticed something else. Thinking back he remembered a teen of about 13 who lived in the same foster home that he did. Even though he was 18 and was leaving in a few weeks, he had compassion for the kid and tried to help him out as much as he could. He remembered how wicked the foster parents were towards the kids, taking their paper route money and doing inappropriate things to them. That had been ten years ago, and that foster home was long ago shut down and the adults arrested.

After addressing the guests, he went around thanking each of them for their donations and for coming out to share in the boy’s holiday events.

Stopping at the table where the man sat with the boy, the director looked closely at the man and said, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Saint Nick.”

Looking up at the director, the man could only stare and remain speechless as the memories of the older teen who cared for him came rushing back. He remembered how the older teen cared enough to spend time with him, trying to encourage him, telling him that he was a saint and not to give in to his wicked foster parents. But the abuse was more then he could bear, and it had hardened his heart until this night. The shackles of pain, rejection, and emotional abuse were broken by the love surrounding him. The little boy had been called Saint Nick by someone who showed care and concern because he thought the kid was worth it, became the man’s beacon of light that filled what had been an empty hard heart, all because of the love shown him long ago.

That night he discovered who he was destined to become: the bearer of gifts for those kids who have few material things but a mountain of love given freely — because they are worthy of it.